


I Belong To You, You Belong To Me - Forever

by hannanotmontana



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Monsters, Romance, Sex, Violence, seriously this has everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannanotmontana/pseuds/hannanotmontana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU where John meets Sherlock - is it Sherlock?! - as a kid, but Sherlock - is it Sherlock?! - is a monster. Hence, Monster!Lock :D<br/>It's got graphic descriptions of blood, violence (against humans and animals), and later on sexual themes, that's why I'll rate it M or even M+.<br/>Disclaimer: Sherlock and Co. belong to ACD, and of course Moffat and Gatiss.<br/>Love, Hanna</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes In The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [I Belong To You, You Belong To Me - Forever (Taducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670138) by [DarknessNightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessNightmare/pseuds/DarknessNightmare)



> Shoutout to DarknessNightmare, who is translating this into Español!! Thank you!!

John is five years old when he finds out that the monsters under his bed are real.

He bangs the door and screams for Harry to let him out of the attic again, but she laughs and tells him she'll be back after going to the toilet and sneaking some cookies – his cookies, the ones their mum put aside for him before he has to go to sleep! – and his wails die away unheard.

Playing hide-and-seek had sounded fun, but then Harry had locked the door of the attic and now he's alone up there and the light-bulb has died _ages_ ago and his dad has never changed it so it's dark and he's scared to death.

It doesn't help that he always hears whispers when he walks past the door that conceals the stairs up to the attic. He just knows that there's something up there, no matter what their parents say, and he's torn between crying some more and freezing on the spot.

If he cried, he won't be able to hear the whisper start, but he's only five (almost six, though, but still, just five) and his lungs burn already. Finally, he slumps down and curls up, head between his small fists, and starts sobbing.

It's not loud enough, though, because he _can_ hear the whisper start.

His heart beats faster and faster and his pyjama is already soaked with tears and now sweat, but although every fibre in his body is tight, stiff with fear and he doesn't _want to_ , he peeks through his eyelids.

The darkness at the top of the stairs seems to be thicker than everywhere else and the whisper- John is not imagining it, he is NOT, no matter what his mum says – comes from there. A cold breeze sweeps over him, more than a natural draught and especially impossible because it's July and there are no cold breezes.

And with the breeze, there comes a voice. Hissing, like a snake, dry and voiceless, and John can't think straight anymore, he feels warmth running down his leg (and later, he'll be terribly ashamed) but he can't bring himself to care. The darkness now pours down the stairs, like syrup; it comes closer and John sees a flash of yellow and a strangled cry drops from his throat.

And then- _"… leave…him…alone…"_

It's a different voice, and John can understand it just so, it's barely above a whisper and the words sound strange, twisted, foreign, as if the speaker has never spoken before in his life. As if he's (John is sure it's a male voice) just winding his tongue around words for the first time.

John forgets to be scared momentarily and he's not the only one taken aback – the flowing darkness stops at the middle of the stairs and bubbles from the left to the right, but without coming closer.

"… _leave him alone…"_

This time, there's no pause between the words, as if the speaker has gained confidence.

And the darkness – the darkness retreats. Slowly, unwillingly, but it retreats. John hears footsteps coming closer and before he knows what he's doing, he bangs the door again, which opens, and he topples out and races past Harry, who at first laughs at his tear-stained face but then sees that he's peed himself and races after him, cursing because now she has to re-dress him and explain to their mother what had happened – and John is going to tell on her, she's sure.

The door to the attic remains open, and from the shadows there, a pair of eyes follows the five-year-old and his older sister. The eyes are yellow, too, but that's the problem with their race – everyone looks the same. Black mass, yellow eyes. And teeth. But he is different, always has been, and the more he concentrates, the lighter his eyes become, until they are bright blue, the exact copy of John's.

He will wait.

X

John waits over two months until he feels brave enough to go back to the attic. He doesn't want to, not really (the image of his stained pyjama and the shame still very vivid in his mind), but now he's six years old, it's September, it's warm and sunny and he can't forget the voice.

He figures he's safe in the light of the afternoon, the naivety of a six-year-old who thinks that as long as the sun is shining, no harm will come to him. About 30 years later, he will almost die under the bright afternoon sun, and he'll learn the hard way that the sun doesn't mean no harm can come. Because where there's sun, there's always shadows, too.

For now, though, he has all the confidence he can muster up, and he tackles his task logically, as logically as he can. He drags his biggest, heaviest book out of his room and uses it to keep the door to the attic wide open. This way, he figures he can run out if he needs to and the light from the windows lights up the staircase. The light bulb is still not working, but he doesn't plan to actually climb the stairs anyway.

And then he takes a deep breath, stands at the foot of the stairs and asks: "Hello?"

Nothing happens. There is no darkness, no shadows, and no whispering voices.

"Is there somebody?"

Again, no reply. He grips the little tin soldier in his right hand tighter, takes a deep breath and steps closer to the stairs. Just when he wants to set his food on the first step, though-

"What are you doing, Johnny?"

The voice of his mum startles him and he whirls around, the tin soldier dropping to the foot of the stairs.

"Nothing…" He can't very well tell her, right? Harry had pleaded him to remain silent about their Hide-and-Seek-Game and John, too terrified to protest, had agreed. Now he's glad, because surely Mummy and Daddy wouldn't have believed him anyways. Grown-ups never did. And that's why he steps away from the stairs now, picks up his book and lets the door close behind him. "I was just taking this book outside. I want to sit in the garden."

His mum raises an eyebrow, but then she lets the topic be and walks with him, picking up some lemonade. Their voices fade as they move out into the garden, and when the House is completely silent on the inside, the door to the attic moves. It hasn't been closed fully, the door is slightly ajar, and then something scurries over the floor, too quick for eyes to see, not more than a shadow. But it's out.

X

John has a strange feeling when he goes to bed that night. He tosses and turns, more than is natural for a little boy (because usually, he's knocked out as soon as his head hits the pillow) and he simply can't pinpoint it down to something in particular. That is, until he opens his eyes to find the light switch for the lamp on his nightstand and freezes.

Because the small tin-solider is standing there.

He holds his breath for almost 30 seconds and just when he thinks that maybe his parents or Harry found it and put it back there, he hears the whisper. And this time, it's coming from under his bed.

John clenches his eyes shut, pulls the blanket over his head and whimpers, fighting with himself if he should call out to his parents or not. However, the whispers get a bit louder and although he doesn't want to, he finds himself listening, trying to make out words. Finally, he does.

" _Johnny."_

Under his blanket, John's eyes are wide with panic. He's heard his name, his own name – the shadows know his name and-

" _Johnny. Look."_

The voice is confident, almost demanding, and although it's still dry and hard to understand, barely above a whisper, it seems to know what it wants.

John chokes out a "No!" before clasping his hand over his mouth. He didn't mean to answer; now the thing knows he knows it's here!

" _Look."_

Never in his life has John been so afraid, not even two months ago. Because he knows that if he's going to lower his blanket now, he will stare right into a pair of yellow eyes, the same one's he saw on top of the stairs. There's no weight on his bed, but shadows don't weight anything, right? So it's probably right there. John doesn't want to look and whimpers again.

" _Johnny. Scared?"_

John is not sure if he's heard right. Did the shadows just ask him if he was scared? He calms down, just the slightest bit, just enough to timidly talk back.

"Yes, I'm scared. Go away! Leave me alone!"

" _Why scared?"_

"Because- because I can't see you and I don't know what you are and your eyes are scary." John swallows and grips his teddy tighter. It's getting really hot under his blanket, but just because he's talking to the monster doesn't mean he's going to get out from his hiding place.

" _Close them? Come out Johnny?"_

John doesn't like it, but he is feeling calmer. He is getting _used_ to the shadow. And it doesn't sound… evil, exactly. More… curious. But…

"If I come out, will you hurt me?"

" _No."_

The voice sounds confident. Then, it adds: _"Not today."_

And true, that's not exactly promising, but something in the voice makes John trust it, and it's getting REALLY hot under the blanket and he's only six years old. Six-year-olds trust easily. John takes a deep breath, his small body tight like a bow, and then he slowly pokes his head out from under his blanket.

The room is pitch black. He's alone.

" _Johnny look?"_

The voice is close, very close, and John jumps a bit and fights the urge to run. Instead, he concentrates and – yes, at the edge of his bed, the darkness is darker than everywhere around him.

"I'm looking. Can't you see?"

" _Eyes closed."_

And John giggles. He doesn't mean to, but he imagines a great big hairy monster sitting on the edge of his bed with its eyes shut – the image is just too hilarious. A sound like a breezes rustling dead leaves starts and it takes John a few moments to realize that this is the shadow laughing. Maybe it's not so bad after all?

He takes a deep breath. "You can open your eyes if you want to. Maybe just a bit?"

" _Yes. Bit."_ The voice answers and then two small yellow slits appear, seemingly hovering at the end of John's bed. It's a truly terrifying sight and John's heart beat fastens, while he presses his teddy to his chest.

"Why- why did you try to hurt me? When I was at the stairs in July?"

The yellow eyes widen a bit. _"Not me. Brother."_

"There's more of you?!"

" _Many."_

"Well… how-how many are in my room?" John is not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

" _Me. You. Alone."_

John exhales audibly and tries to look into the yellow slits for a bit longer at a time. Slowly, he's getting used to them.

"What did your brother want, then? Before you stopped him – I mean, that was you, right?"

" _Was me. Brother tried to eat you. Fat bastard."_

John doesn't know if he's more shocked at the revelation that he was almost eaten by a creepy shadow or that the shadow in his room used bad language. Probably the former, though.

"He tried to –tried to eat me?!" There's panic in his voice now and he wonders if he should call out to his mum after all. He doesn't, though.

" _Yes. Johnny safe now."_

"With you?" John sounds unbelieving and it's exactly how he feels.

" _Yes."_

"And what are you?"

The darkness is silent for a moment. Then it says: _"Monster."_

John is not surprised. After all, that's what he figured. And because he's six, he easily believes that.

"Do you, uh, have a name?"

" _Monster."_

"That's not a name. It's what you are. I'm a boy, and my name is John. You're a monster, but what's your name?"

It contemplates for a moment. _"Johnny?"_

"No, that's my name – but only my mum calls me that. You can't have my name. You need your own."

" _Can't."_

John doesn't understand that, but he decides to let go of the topic for the moment. There's something else, though. "What do you want from me?"

" _Talk."_

And that's what they do. John is still more than scared and it doesn't change when the Shadow offers – in slow, carefully chosen words – to change his eyes, because when he does, they look like John's and John tells the Shadow that he can't have his eyes, either, just like with his name. The concept of something belonging to uniquely John seems foreign and strange to the monster, but it accepts it after a while.

X

In the morning, he keeps quiet, hidden away in the deepest corner under John's bed and he watches the human get up and pause for a moment. He obviously wonders if everything of last night has been true, and the shadow rolls his eyes, yellow once more, in the darkness.

He can't have John's name, or John's eyes. But he wants the boy, wants to own him whole, everything of him. And some day, he will.

In the night, he creeps out from under the bed again, and this time it's easier to speak the human tongue. The words come to him now, he can speak full sentences and while John is initially afraid of him again, he opens up soon enough.

His first sentence is: "Will you hurt me?"

And the shadow answers truthfully: _"No. Not today."_

Apparently that's good enough for John.

X

Mrs. Mason's dog is found slaughtered two weeks later. Its vitals are evenly spread all over Mrs. Mason's front lawn and the head of the dog is mounted on the white picket fence, staring at everyone that passes with wide eyes.

When John goes to bed that night, he is anxious. As soon as the yellow eyes pop up at the end of his bed, he asks: "Will you hurt me?"

" _No. Not today."_ The voice is much stronger now, more than a whisper, although it still sounds as if it's from another world – well, it most likely is.

"Are you sure? Because I know you did that to Mrs. Mason's dog."

" _I never lie to you."_

Well, this answers the first question, but the thing with the dog…

"Did you kill that dog?"

" _Yes."_

"Why?!"

" _It hurt you. I hurt it."_ As if that explains it. John's mouth is slightly agape.

"You did this because of me?"

" _Yes. You're safe now."_

"With you?!" John knows this is their first conversation again, but he doesn't care. The thought that this scary shadow went outside, in the night, and killed that stupid dog… It had been a nasty animal, but John didn't want it DEAD and certainly not that way. He didn't see it but he heard his parents talk about it and Harry and her friends had discussed it, too. Apparently Brutus' head had been put on the fence!

" _Yes."_

"I don't trust you," John finally manages. The fact that he still sits in the darkness and talks to the monster contradicts his words a bit, but he doesn't care.

" _Why not? You complained about the dog, I took care of it. I wanted to help you. Do you a favour."_ The monster really doesn't seem to understand John's problem. He's not sure if he understands his own problem, either.

"I don't… I don't know. You don't even have a face or a body, but you killed that dog. How do I know you're not going to hurt me? I can't even look in your face!"

" _I told you, I never lie to you. You asked me if I would hurt you and I said no. I don't lie."_

"What about your face, though?"

" _I don't have one. Not here."_

"But… how-"

The shadow sighs, and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they're the familiar yellow, but below them- below them are two rows of razor-sharp teeth, hovering in the darkness. John yelps and scrambles back against his headboard, panic sending his heartbeat to a staccato.

He can't blink, can't bring himself to do so for a long time, but when he finally does, the teeth are gone again and all that remains are the yellow eyes. They look almost lurking now and John- John calls for his mother.

He's not proud of it later, and the shame burns high on his cheeks when he explains to his mother that he can't sleep in his room tonight. He sees that she worries about it – he's six years old after all, and should stay in his own bed in the night – but something about him makes her give in and he can stay with Harry for the night.

X

The Shadow sits, as usual, in the darkest corner under John's bed and watches the small boy go with his mother. For a moment, he contemplates killing the woman but he's sure John wouldn't react positive to that.

It was not his intention to scare John, and he doesn't want John to leave. Doesn't the human understand that the stupid dog deserved what the Shadow did to him?

He remembers the bite mark on John's skin, vividly, the dots where the canine's fangs had pierced children skin and the scent of blood. John's blood, drifting through the darkness, beckoning, sweet, hot, delicious. It had been extraordinarily hard not to devour him that night – but the Monster has fought the urge and instead made the plan to punish the creature that had dared to sink its teeth into his John.

Because that's what he is. _His John._ And the Shadow won't tolerate anyone getting to him. Ever.

X

The following night, John whispers into the darkness: "Please leave me alone. Please don't hurt me. Just go away."

For a long time, nothing happens, and John thinks that maybe he's safe. Maybe the monster is gone, actually gone. But then the two yellow eyes appear in a corner of his room and he panics.

" _I will not hurt you today."_

The whisper is soft this time, almost loving, soothing, and although John doesn't want to, he falls into a hypnotic calmness. He's unable to look away as the Shadow slowly comes closer.

" _Are you scared of me?"_

"Y-yes."

" _Don't be. I will not hurt you today. I promise."_

John's eyes are wide. He doesn't believe it.

For a long time, the eyes are fixed on the young boys'. Finally, the Shadow says: _"I will leave you alone for a while."_ And with that, he disappears. Half an hour later, John dares to move, and two hours later, he is finally asleep.

The Shadow watches, waits, until long after midnight, before it carefully hovers over John's body, almost able to feel the tiny puffs of breath on his not-face. His eyes slowly turn blue.

X

John falls ill for over a week. He's feverish, weak and can barely talk, but at least he has quiet nights, because the Shadow doesn't show up at all. _Like he promised,_ John thinks when he has a clear moment.

X

Almost two weeks later – John is well again – the familiar shuffle under his bed starts and although he is quite scared, he finds that he's also missed the Shadow. Scary as he is, he is still very nice to talk to.

" _John?"_ The voice asks, but John looks around his room in vain. There's no pair of eyes or – worse – teeth and everything is equally dark.

"Where are you?"

" _Here."_

Well, that doesn't help.

"Why don't you look at me? Will you… will you hurt me?"

" _No. Not today."_ The answer is confident, as always, and John realizes he actually trust the Monster. It is scary, and he doesn't know the slightest bit about it, but it seems to keep its promises.

" _I have a surprise."_ The voice continues, and John sits up in his bed a bit straighter.

And suddenly, two silver eyes, liquid moonlight and mercury, blink at him from the end of his bed.

" _Now you don't have to be scared anymore."_ The Shadow sounds proud.

"You… you changed your eyes?" John is intrigued. The new eyes are… very pretty. They appear to be silver, most of the time, but when he boldly leans forward a bit – not too close, remember the teeth – he sees that they are also blue and green.

" _Do they still scare you?"_

And John smiles. "No."

X

The Shadow never talks about himself, or about the other shadows. He calls all of them brothers, and when John digs deeper, the Shadow tells him that the one that tried to eat John is something like a close sibling to him, almost like Harry and John – they hatched from the same place, he says, and John doesn't understand but thinks it's okay.

One thing John quickly finds out is that the Shadow doesn't deal very well with other people. At first, he just gets angry with people that harass John – although John quickly tells him not to hurt them, like he did with Brutus.

The Shadow sulks for a while after that. Can't John understand that he does it all for him?

Hearing about that bigger kid, Jason, at school, who mocks John because he's so short, makes the Monster angry, and he wants to rip the other kid to shreds, wants to see the fear in his eyes when he dies, wants to sink his teeth into warm, soft children flesh. But John looks so pleading that he can't do it. Because John makes him _promise._

And he can't break promises.

X

A week later, Jason's cat gets caught in the oven, burns to a slow death and the smoking, stinking remains of burnt flesh and charred fur are splattered all over the kitchen, while the clean, white fridge is smirched with bloody letters that spell:

BAD BOY JASON

X

It's hard to play outside with the Shadow. They try, John and the Monster, but apparently it can't stay in direct sunlight for too long and after playing in the shadow of a large tree in the Watson's garden for a while, John notices that the grass around them is dead, blackened and completely dry.

"Was that you?!" John asks, more intrigued than anything else, although the dead patch of grass looks quite hostile.

" _Apparently."_ The Shadow sounds almost amused and its inky contours, soft in the twilight under the tree, are in a deuce of a stir now. Seconds later, it drains away, so quickly that John jumps out of the way – he's been passed by the Shadow once and it was a feeling of a bucket of ice-cold water being poured down his back. The Shadow moves between the trees rapidly, laughing its dry, rumbling laugh and wherever it touches the ground, the grass dies.

John is infected by the monster's glee and follows suit, jumps from dry patch to dry patch in a fascination that only six-year-olds can feel, pretending the space in between is lava, or a sea full of sharks.

It's all great fun until John's mum comes out, the Shadow disappears into thin air and John is being questioned what he did to the grass. He's not allowed outside the house for the next week (no one believes him when he says he didn't do anything) but he doesn't mind so much because the weather gets worse anyways and the Shadow is in his room, waiting for him to come and play.

X

People assume John is a sickly child. There's always one to two weeks each year when he comes down with a fever, fatigue and headaches and no doctor knows why – the simply claim it to be the flu, or whatever else is raging through the schools at the moment.

It takes John six years to realize the Shadow has something to do with it.

X

"Will you hurt me today?" he asks, sitting on his bed and staring at the end of his mattress where silver eyes stare back. It's routine, always the first thing he says, and, as always, the Shadow answers: _"No. Not today."_

"Are you sure?" John asks, narrowing his eyes a bit. The Shadow, as always, hovers at the end of his bed, silver eyes never leaving the boy. "Because… because I think you're hurting me sometimes."

" _Do you trust me?"_

The question is asked calmly, and also lurking. For a moment, John fears that if he gives the wrong answer, something bad will happen – but then again, there really is only one answer, plus – the Shadow has promised not to hurt him today, and while he is… well, a monster, he stays true to his words.

"Yes."

" _Good."_

"But… you know how I get sick every year? Like, every year. And you're never around when I am," John can't help but add after a few moments. He's fiddling with a corner of his blanket, more out of nervousness than out of fear. He's long ago learned not to fear his Shadow.

" _I am always around."_ The voice of the monster is quiet, and it could've sounded threatening, but it doesn't, not to John, because he knows what he's trying to say, how he means it. It's a promise, not a threat.

"Look, I promise not to be mad. Just tell me – am I sick because of you?"

For the first time in their six-year-long friendship, the Shadow seems reluctant. His eyes close for a minute, and John realizes that moment how young the creature really is. He likes to act all superior, and mysterious (well, the being-a-living-Shadow adds to that, actually), but now, it looks like it's… scared. Afraid, at least. Unsure.

"I promise I'll not be mad," John reassures him, and unconsciously moves closer. Of course he can't touch the Shadow, can't comfort him through touch, but right now, the desire burns inside of him. He knows that he always feels better when his mum hugs him, and now he wants to hug his friend. Embrace the darkness.

Finally, the monster answers. _"Yes. I need you, John. And that makes you sick."_

He should probably be shocked, but John really can't bring himself to it. There's something he wants to know. "How? What do you need of me? Maybe I can give it to you and you don't have to make me sick."

" _My John…"_ the Shadow sounds amused now, and oddly sentimental. Also, possessive. _"You can't. I will take what I need and you will be sick again."_

"And what do you take?"

" _You."_

And with that cryptically answer, the Shadow disappears for the night, and leaves John to his musings. He feels like he should find that wrong, that he should be scared – but he really can't bring himself to feel that. He likes the Shadow, they're best friends, and… if he really needs something of John so he can stay around, John will happily give it to him, even if it means he'll be sick once a year. It's not that bad – people get sick all the time, after all.

Besides, the Shadow has promised not to hurt him. John trusts him with his life. Quite literally.

X

John thinks that the Shadow is young (from the way he talks, and behaves, and doesn't do grown-up things although he tries to act grown-up sometimes and uses long words and is interested in newspapers and stuff), and in a way, he is right.

His brothers don't measure their lives like humans do, but if they did, the Shadow under John's bed would be old, compared to any human, at last.

He's old enough to have been lurking in the dark when Caesar was assassinated by his own son, and he's seen kings fall, and murders take place all over the world.

They are one big entity, the shadows, and yet he's always been different. He's been drawn to murders (not just because of the blood, or the soft flesh of dying humans, but because they are fascinating!) and to crimes, mysteries. Watching, observing, while his brothers were busy devouring whomever they liked.

One day, he came back to the place he hatched from, together with a few of his closer hatchling brothers – only that it's now the attic of a family home, belonging to the Watsons, and not the vast, empty field it used to be.

And this is where his second life has begun – he has found the human he craves for most, and, like all Shadows who find one of these bonds, he will be around until John is ready for him.

He lives off him already, off the energy, the life that pulses through John's body.

It allows him to grow more real, to solidify his existence.

For the first time in his life, he speaks. Feels his contour-less body grow shapes, almost like limbs.

John doesn't know it, but they are made for each other. The Shadow sees the darkness in John, knows what the small boy will be capable of one day. And that's what makes them perfect for each other.

X

John gets turned down by Angie Masters in front of the whole class – on his 13th birthday, of all days - and the shame is still burning high on his cheeks when he talks to his Shadow that night.

When he started thinking of the Shadow in terms of 'his', John doesn't know, but it's fitting, and he voices that thought: "You know, when I move out, you need to come with me. I can transport you in a cat's travel box or something so you don't have to be in the bright light while we move, and then we can live in my own flat and you don't have to hide all day!"

The Shadow makes an undignified sound, close to a snort, and John giggles while the monster obviously tries to decided whether it should be offended or not. _"I'm not a cat – I could eat those for breakfast!"_

It's a bid morbid, that statement, considering the monsters diet – John watched him once, when he'd found a dead squirrel in the garden and wanted to get a shovel to bury it. Within seconds, the Shadow had appeared, like a shark that had smelled blood in the water, and the inky blackness crept up the dead mammal, there was the sound of breaking bones and the tearing of flesh and then the squirrel was gone, complete with fur, bones and a bit of grass – but by now John is accustomed to things like that.

" _But we will move out together."_

John is a bit surprised. "Really? You would want to come along?"

" _Obviously,"_ the Shadow says and makes it sound as if it's exactly that – obvious. _"We'll stay together."_

And John smiles and forgets about the shame of this morning, stops being gloomy. As weird as it is, the Shadow is the one being that understands him better than anyone else, and… he is his best friend. "Always," John says. And he means it.

X

"Always," John says.

The Shadow is so content, so full of stolen human emotion, that he almost feels like it's too much. John is his and he is John's. They belong together and one day, they will truly be one.

This night, for the first night, the Shadow seeps into John's dreams as the boy is asleep. He covers the human in his sleep, black ink waving softly over golden human skin, and the thoughts of a monster mingle with the thoughts of a boy.

From that night on, the Shadow gets more powerful, growing and thriving on John's dreams, thoughts and emotions. With the growth, there also comes hunger, hunger after more than the animals the Shadow hunts can satisfy. But he never, ever hurts a human.

Not when John has his first real girlfriend and his dreams get more sexual. The Shadow simply replaces the stupid brown-haired girl with a more vague figure and John doesn't mind (well, technically he doesn't know the Shadow can do that, but his dreams are pleasant nonetheless and the Shadow can experience a new emotion when sleeping with – in? next to? On top of? – John; it's lust, and it makes him crave his human even more).


	2. Growing Up

When John is 16, he cuts himself on a piece of carton and just like paper cuts, it stings and bleeds a lot, although it's not exactly deep.

However, it's enough to drip on the floor before the boy can wrap some toilet paper around it. John curses as he walks back to his room and notices the drops of blood leading out, marking the track of his way to the bathroom.

He freezes in the doorframe, though. Because the Shadow is hovering in one corner of his room, eyes switching from silver to yellow and John is pretty sure he can see a glimpse of teeth, seconds before the black mass races forward, coming towards him.

The door bangs shut behind John (and bumps into his head – it's going to hurt for a while) and then the Shadow is right up in his personal space, eyes (now silver again) drilling themselves into John and a cool touch from shadowy ink running down John's bare forearms – the monster's touch – sends goosebumps down the human's back.

" _You're bleeding."_

The voice is rough, even darker than usual and if John wouldn't be so wary, he would probably call the Shadow out on stating the obvious. However, the silver eyes have a yellow edge, and the view is unsettling.

"Yes – I was just about to cover it up…" John trails off, not saying but still implying what he wants to say – if you please let me continue and not eat me, I will cover it up – but then a droplet of blood falls from his finger and the Shadow darts out, quicker than light.

The ruby drop disappears midair and for a second (later, John is not sure if he imagined it or not) he sees a almost human figure crouch on his floor, legs, and chest and arms, and a head framed with curls, that almost hang into now yellow eyes.

The…. Boy? Shadow? Stares up at him wildly, and then it's gone, black ink flowing over John's floor and out of the window. Finally, he manages to move, and tends to his cut.

The Shadow doesn't show up that night anymore.

X

For one short, glorious half of a second, he almost makes the transition.

More of the delicious, hot blood was all it would have taken.

But the single drop alone has put him in such a ecstasy, such arousal, that it almost is too much.

Lust is pulsing through him, together with the craving for more of _John_. He wants him so badly.

For one short moment, he was more than a Shadow – he was a person, human, with a name as rare, and beautiful as he is as a monster. It was a short moment, yet glorious, and he spends all night dwelling on fantasies of when he will finally overstep that boundary, when he can be with John fully.

He will have John; in every way possible.

X

John is sweating heavily, the sheets are drenched beneath him and his naked body tosses from side to side wildly. One hand is wrapped around his cock, and it's good that his whole body is slick with sweat, because it makes the sensation more real, better, more intense. His other hand is curled into the sheets and a low moan breaks free from his throat.

He's glad that his parents and Harry are gone for the weekend and he has the house to himself. Puberty with all its changes was overbearing sometimes and 18-year-old John, now in the final stages of the awful change, has been horny all day, desperate to get off. There was no particular reason for it, maybe someone he's passed on his way home from school or maybe something he saw, but now, in the darkness of his room, with only the moonlight coming in through the windows that are opened in an attempt to catch at least a tiny breeze to allow relieve from the hot summer night, it feels like his last wank has been ages ago. In reality, it has only been the night before, but it sure feels differently.

Very distantly, he hears the whisper start, but he really can't be bothered right now, too far away to care about the shadow right now. His eyes are shut in pleasure and he moans deeply – his orgasm is close and it won't take long now, just two or three more strokes-

A soft breeze caresses his slick body and his eyes fly open, only to see the familiar silver eyes hover right over his face, a cloud of darkness over his body. And then the eyes drop, he feels like something hits his body and he comes, shouting loudly as his come spurts all over his stomach. He sees stars behind his closed eyes, his whole body is shivering and trembling and he doesn't know why, but there's a very vivid image of a pale face with silver eyes and dark curls framing it burnt into his mind as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

X

John never mentions what has happened a few days ago, when he was getting off on the bed – he's not even sure if he remembers that correctly or not and the Shadow never talks about it, either. Maybe he's just been… hallucinating or something.

He's not gay, but then again, he's never been with a boy before, so he wouldn't know, would he? The boy in his mind wasn't ugly or anything, and John did get off, which was the whole point after all.

"Will you hurt me today?" he asks, more out of habit than because of real fear, when the silver eyes come out from under his bed.

" _No. Not today."_ The Shadow sounds sure like always and John allows himself a small smile, before leaning back against his headboard and making a face when his t-shirt sticks to his back instantly. It's still awfully hot and although he's been in the shower half an hour ago, he already feels like having run a marathon again.

"You're lucky you don't get hot," he tells the Shadow and plucks on his t-shirt disgustedly. Coming to a decision, he quickly shrugs out of it. Now his bare back sticks to the wood of the headboard, but at least his chest gets some fresh air. "You don't, do you?" he adds, when the Shadow stays silent.

" _No."_ The reply is short, and the silver eyes are trained on him, like they always are, but John feels strangely exposed all of the sudden. He's overly aware of his bare chest. Maybe taking off the t-shirt hadn't been a good idea. Then again, he changes in his room all the time and while the Shadow rarely comes out during the day, John knows he spends the days mostly under his bed.

But now, the silver eyes reminded him of the strange… fantasy he's had when getting off and it's a bit… unsettling.

"Can I ask you a question?" he tries, suddenly wondering about something.

" _If you can handle the answer."_

The Shadow moves over to the end of John's bed, and although he is just darker darkness in the darkness, John feels like the mattress sinks down a bit. Of course, that's ridiculous- or not? Well, he's going to ask now.

"You don't have a body, right? A physical body, I mean."

" _That's not a serious question since you know the answer."_ The Shadow sounds almost annoyed, as if John's question is really stupid.

"I know – I mean, you said you didn't have one _here_." John remembers the conversation with a shudder – it was almost 13 years ago, and he'd seen the Shadow's teeth for the first time back then.

He's seen them again, one time, when he was 16 and bold enough to ask, and the fangs, glistening brightly in the darkness, had been even more impressive. Only the Shadow's promise of not hurting him had kept John from freaking out.

"But-" he continues, "-what does that mean? Can you have a body somewhere else? Where you and the other shadows come from?"

For a long time, the Shadow is silent and if it wasn't for his eyes, John would have wondered if he was gone. Finally he speaks up, words obviously chosen carefully. _"I could get a body here, but you won't like to know how."_

And something in his voice sends a primal fear through John's body, makes his hair stand on end. He doesn't ask. Because the Shadow always keeps his promises and if he says that John won't like to know how he could get a solid body, then John doesn't dare to ask.

X

A month before John is supposed to leave for med school, he falls ill again and as per usual during these times, the Shadow doesn't show up.

Of course John knows by now that this is the Shadow, living off him in some way, and during the times when he's sick, he is actually afraid of the monster. What if he takes too much? What if he really wants to hurt him?

Also, this time, John is sick for almost two weeks and it gets so serious that his mum calls the ambulance one evening because his fever is over 40 degrees and he hasn't been able to keep food in for over four days.

But then, as suddenly as his illness has come, it passes, and he is back to his old self.

X

He knows John will ask questions, will be angry and scared. That doesn't stop him from creeping out from under the bed.

"I would ask you if you will hurt me, but I don't think I can trust you," John says as soon as he notices his presence, not interrupting his packing. Stuffing clothes in a suitcase, packing books in a box.

" _I never lie to you."_

"You almost _killed_ me. My mum called a bloody ambulance because of the fever!" John hisses, holding a stack of paper as if it was a deadly missile. He can't hurt the Shadow. You can't hurt darkness.

" _I didn't."_

"I don't care. It was fucking close enough. I don't want you around anymore. I want you to leave. I want you to promise me to leave me alone!"

He hasn't counted on that, he has to admit it. John looks very angry – and also scared, the Shadow can smell it, although the human hides it well. His beautiful, wonderful John.

His John, who wants him to leave.

" _I won't promise that."_

"I'm leaving anyway! You can't follow me to med school now, can you?!" John hisses back. He can't yell, because his parents would notice, but he wants to. The Shadow knows it.

" _I can."_

The Shadow watches closely how it works in John and when realization dawns on him, his fists clench angrily and the papers fall to the ground, scattering like dry leaves in autumn.

"This is what this was about? You… sucking the life out of me to follow me?"

The Shadow's silence speaks volumes and John's breathing grows heavy with anger. The creature feels like it should explain himself. _"You wanted me to come along. You talked about how great it would be if we could be together always."_

John looks exasperated. "I was 13!"

" _Always, you said,"_ the Shadow remembers him softly. He can still hear the words. But even if John hadn't said it, he would never have let him go. John is his.

"That was before you almost killed me," John says, something like defeat in his voice.

" _I never meant to kill you."_ If I wanted to, you would be dead by now, he adds in his mind. But no – killing John would be such a waste. He wants John, more like anything else, wants to devour and cherish him. But not like this.

"Well you almost did! I-" John runs a hand through his hair, "-I want you to stay the fuck away from me. I don't know how, but if you try something again, I will… I will find a way to hurt you. We could've talked about this. You could've asked me. But you just went and… almost killed me. You're dangerous!"

The Shadow blinks once. Twice. Feels heat raging inside himself. It is new, in combination with John. He always gets angry, mad, dangerously so, at people who hurt John. But now John is hurt by him. Scared of him. And it's a new form of hate. He hears himself growling, sees John's eyes go wide and the thump of the human heart increases, sends sweet blood rushing through the blond's body even faster.

His mind burns with desire and he feels his grasp of reality slip. Instincts break free, his eyes tint yellow, his teeth appear in the semi-darkness of the room- and then the light flickers on and he flees, out of the window, into the night. Away. Away.

He was so close to reveal his true form to John, the form only those who are about to be devoured by him can see. It was the last thing Brutus saw, all those years ago, before he ripped him to shreds, it was the last thing Jason's cat saw before she died in the oven and now-

He is so angry, feels the rage burn within and he roams the night, looking for prey.

A child, about 5 years old – blonde girl, two braids – that walks hand in hand with a teenage girl, probably her sister, catches his attention and he is ready to surround them, end them, when he remembers who he is.

He hovers, waiting, while the unassuming girls walk away. Fights the urge to rip apart, to break bones.

A cat that walks past isn't so lucky and within seconds, he sinks his fangs into hit, savouring the panic that adds zest to the warm blood and soft flesh and muscles.

This night, the pets of the whole neighbourhood find an abrupt end, and the Shadow, raging, makes sure to get his message across to John.

I'm angry. Don't try to make me leave.

John sees. The whole city sees it, although they don't know what to make of the grotesque arrangement of bones, carefully nibbled blank and connected to form crooked letters spelling

STAY

in the middle of the street. They think it's a maniac, someone who hates animals.

John leaves nevertheless, and the Shadow finds a crumpled piece of paper on the ground that was supposed to go into the bin. It simply reads "I'm sorry."

X

John doesn't hear of the Shadow again. That doesn't mean he can be sure it's not around, though.

At first, his life seems to achieve some sort of normalcy. He rooms with a nice bloke called Mike at med-school, meets a lot of new people, including a nice girl called Sarah whom he wants to ask out soon.

But then Mike has a panic attack and needs to go to the hospital, but since he's sick, down with a fever, no thinks much of it. Besides John.

He's never been as scared in life before as he is when he sits down on his bed that night, looks around the small dorm-room and tries to gather the courage to speak. When he does, he hates how desperate his voice sounds, but he needs to get this out.

"Look, I-… I know you're there. But I meant what I said – you can't be here with me. It's… it won't work out. Whatever you did to Mike, you need to stop with it. You and me – we're something different, you can't drag people into it."

There's no answer and John feels incredibly stupid for talking to an empty room, but he just knows that in the darkness, there's his Shadow waiting, hovering, listening.

"You've been my best friend, but… you do realize that if I tell people I'm best friends with the monster under my bed, they'll put me into a mental health clinic? I know you exist, but no one else does. I can't… I can't have an imaginary best friend. I'm almost 20." Great, now he sounds like a dick.

"Do you understand that? Please – just go back to where you come from. You said there were more of you. Go back to them. I'm happy here and you- you should be happy, too."

He doesn't know what else to say, so he shuts up then. Tries to go to sleep. But the dreams he has lately don't leave him rested. His whole childhood had been filled with dreams of friendship. Dark dreams, yes, but he was never afraid – because, even in his dreams, there was always someone besides him. Now there isn't.

John tries to move on.

X

In the act that almost killed John this time, the Shadow has learned a new ability – and he very nearly uses it on John.

John, who dares to leave, without him, although he _promised._

However, he has once promised John that he will never hurt a human and no matter how much he wants to, he cannot do it. He promised.

His new ability, taking over a body so it becomes his marionette, is tempting, so very tempting. (But since he promised, he doesn't dwell on the thoughts of taking over John any longer.) There is just one "problem". Well, it's not a problem for him… but rather for his hosts – because when he takes over, he takes over completely. Erases the personality, every last thought, the essence of his host.

It all seeps into him, he becomes them, and they flicker out and fade like a candle in the wind.

So he doesn't do it.

To humans.

He uses a hawk to follow John to med school and he barely makes it there before his too-big-presence destroys the too-small-body.

(Also, he only eats mice for the next few days, an echo of the hawks preferred diet.) It doesn't take long to find John's room – he will always find him, knows his smell, follows the familiar feeling of John – and then he's safely tucked away under the young students bed.

This night he tries, as usual, to connect with John in his sleep. And the unfathomable happens. He can't.

Their connection is gone.

His inky limbs crawl over the uneasy sleeping boy, but he _can't connect._

Frustrated, he disappears into the night. When his rage subsides, four cows lie dead on the range lands. And he feels broken.

X

He is not careful enough, soon after John starts classes. And John knows he's here. But he can't answer, can't show himself, because something between them is broken and he needs to find out what it is, first. So John's words, his plea to be left alone trail away unanswered while the Shadow waits. Observes.

X

The feelings, emotions dull over the years.

That is, every one of them besides want and pain.

And since he can't connect to John anymore, being rejected by his human, he takes others energy to survive, but it's not enough, not nearly.

He loses power, the ability to alter his appearance and the only thing that doesn't leave him is his ability to take over others. Hiding in plain sight.

Cut off of the one person that made him… human, he becomes a creature of the darkness again, unable to show emotions, unable to express himself. He is left to watch, and learn. Reduced to his raw being, yellow eyes, teeth. Barely human at all. The essence of himself.

Dreams of a slender body, pale skin, silver eyes are long gone. Merely that. Dreams.

Fortunately, at a big campus like John's med school, there is a lot to learn. He learns about the human body. Learns about chemistry, science, biology. Hidden in the natural shadows, he learns, reads, and educates himself, because there is nothing to do when John is sleeping now. He is fascinated by mysteries, puzzles, and they provide a welcome distraction from the raging pain and want.

When he doesn't learn, he watches John.

The urge to take over a human becomes so strong at times that he almost gives in.

When John brings his girlfriends to his room, the Shadow wants to slip into them, just so he can be close to John again.

When he sees them move together in the darkness and hears John whisper sweet nothings, he wants to _be_ the girls, just so he can be close to John, who is _his_ , his alone – the rage burns within him; he is ready to destroy.

He never does, though. Because he promised.

He starts to take over the cats of the area. Makes sure he crosses John's way when he walks over the campus or goes out in the nights. John (with only little surprise that he suddenly seems to be some sort of cat-magnet now) obediently pets the trusting animals and the Shadow starts to live for this small demonstrations of affection.

(John has never been a cat person, but something in the furry, yellow-eyed creatures makes him like them – the Shadow knows it's his body remembering him.)

It is the first time that he can actually feel John's hand on his body (well, a burrowed body – cat on the outside, monster on the inside) and it makes it worth that there is an increasing number of dead cats in the neighbourhood for which the Shadow is responsible. (Because, like the hawk, cats are too small to contain him for long.)

He lives like this for a long time, and, when John graduates and moves to London, starts working there, he follows. They will always be together, after all.

Always.

X

The first time John can't save someone in the A&E, he is devastated, but not only because he couldn't save the young, innocent girl, but also because he's witnessed something today he can't forget.

Thinking back is hard enough already, even now that it's almost been 12 hours since the incident. The girl was brought to him, bleeding from several stabbing wounds. She was a tourist, only 20 years old, in London for a holiday. She wanted to see the world, and met a thug, who stabbed her five or six times before running off with her backpack. It doesn't help that the police found it, only 30 meters away, stuffed into a bin because there was nothing of value in it. Of course there wasn't. She was a bloody student. How much money did the thug expect she had?!

By the time she had reached the A&E, she'd lost too much blood already and no matter what John and the other doctors did, it was clear she wouldn't make it. At one point, her sobs became incredibly heart-wrenching and she fell back into her mother tongue and no matter how hard he tried to at least comfort her while she sobbed and begged for her Mama and Papa, something even John understood, she couldn't understand him anymore and simply kept sobbing in the foreign tongue.

What happened next, though, was something John couldn't believe. Suddenly, the girl's wails stopped and her body bucked up, throwing around violently for a second before her eyes rolled back in her head and fluttered close, only to shoot open again rapidly. And this time, they were tinted yellow.

She calmed down instantly, her hands unclenched and with something that almost could have been a smile, she sighed one last time, face relaxed, before her head fell to the side and one of her hands slipped down the table, motionless.

They announced her dead at 9.34 am, and John left the A&E straight after that, yellow eyes burnt into his memory permanently. No one stopped him, they all knew how hard the first person dying under your hands was.

And every since then, he is roaming the streets of London, unable to calm down, or go home. He needs to be out, in the crowds. He sits in the bright sunlight, in a park, and remembers a childhood with a monster he has not seen for over eight years now.

X

John starts seeing them everywhere.

When he watches the TV, the eyes of one of the government officials turn yellow and seem to stare straight at him from the screen. Of course that's impossible, but John nevertheless hastily switches off the device and stares at it in shock, breathing heavily until he can calm down.

A young Trainee Detective Inspector's eyes momentarily switch yellow in a press interview regarding a gruesome double homicide.

When John browses the Internet for porn an accidentally accesses the website of some sort of dominatrix he almost has a heart attack when her eyes turn yellow in one of the slide-show pictures. He's never hit the exit button so fast in his life. Needless to say, he doesn't continue his search that evening – it's surprisingly hard to hold an erection when you're scared to death.

X

When he is asked to join the RAMC for the first time, he's not sure.

He's got a girlfriend, he likes the work at the A&E and he has absolutely no desire to get shot invading Afghanistan.

But then his mum and dad die, gas leak in the house, and his world shatters. He only realizes what going back to their old house to sort everything out fully means when he dumps his duffle bag on his bed and, from the corner of his eye, sees a shadow.

X

John looks awful. He has dark bags under his eyes and the Shadow knows he's not only suffering from the death of his parents but also from the fact that his sister is drunk for almost a week now.

He leaves him alone, at first, because there's so much pain in the human and he doesn't know how to deal with it. Being a monster is easy. You don't have emotions.

But now the parents are buried – a shame, all that good meat gone to waste six feet under – and he needs to talk to his John. Hasn't done so in almost thirteen years. Only watched. Never talked.

The words don't come easy to him at first. He was so powerful once, so mighty. But years without practice have weakened him. It's not surprising, though, that his first word is a hoarse, quiet: _"John."_


	3. The Yellow-Eyed Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I still have to warn you, but there's violence, and gore, and some slightly smutty stuff. Although, a mention of self-harm (nothing too graphic and no death!), so please be careful if that triggers you.

John feels him before he hears his name, whispered in the darkness. _"John."_

For a moment, he just wishes him away. But strangely, hearing the voice he hasn't heard in a long time, in over a decade, is somehow comforting. It's like nothing has changed, as if he's still a kid, and his parents are downstairs, while he is talking to the monster under his bed.

"You're back." It's a declaration, a statement, a question. It's hopeful and cautious and abrasive. It's everything and nothing. And then John remembers something, from years ago, and quickly adds: "Will you hurt me today?"

It takes long for the Shadow to answer, and he sound strange, almost… almost like he had sounded in the beginning, the very first time they talked. However, he manages: _"No. Not today,"_ after a while.

John sits and stares into the darkness. This time around, he's not clutching to his teddy bear, like he had when he was six, but it still feels the same. He doesn't know what's going on, he can't see the Shadow, and he doesn't know if he can trust him.

" _And not_ back _. Never left."_

The voice is still soft and seems to have trouble forming the words again, but John doesn't care about grammar or vocabulary. The meaning is what is important. The Shadow just confirmed what he's been thinking all along.

"So it was you, all those years ago in the A&E? The girl – you killed her?"

" _No!"_ The voice gains confidence and something yellow flashes on the floor, near the bed-post. _"I… did not kill. I helped."_

"You what?"

" _I helped."_ The anger is gone from the soft voice again and it sounds almost proud now. _"I made it easier. "_

"We could have saved her," John protests weakly, although he knows that they both know it's not true. The Shadow's silence says enough.

"Were you… were you there all the time?" He thinks back to his room with Mike. To his own small flat when he started working. To the shiver everyone felt when staying over – his girlfriends or… well, One-Night-Stands, who claimed they felt as if they were being watched.

" _You said 'Always',"_ the Shadow reminds him quietly.

And John doesn't know what to answer. He should've known, should've known the morning he woke up and the dead pets of the neighbourhood had been used to spell out the monster's wish. He should've known the day Mike was sent away to the hospital because he had hallucinated a monster under John's bed. And he had known. He had just chosen to block that thought out. To ignore the signs. To push his fears and hopes away. To ignore the things he saw but couldn't explain. A shadow in rooms where there was nothing there to cast it. A shadow at midday, when the sun was too high to actually allow shadows to form.

It's not the reason for the way his life has turned out, John tells himself. He could be married if he concentrated more on his relationships and less on his work or worrying about his alcoholic sister or… chasing shadows, dreams, of times long gone by, times when he had a best friend, someone who would play with him, talk to him, watch over him. Even if it was only the Monster under his bed.

Although he's seen a flash of yellow before, the Shadow is still invisible in the darkness, no eyes, no teeth – not that John minds that – no nothing. But the thought of his Shadow's eyes (not yellow, silver!) make John think of something else.

"I've seen some people with yellow eyes… you know, like… like your eyes were." He makes it sound as a question as well as a statement.

" _Yes. My brothers and sisters have long ago moved on from here."_

X

Ah, his wonderful John. Of course he would notice.

And of course, his brothers (all male, when they're shadows and only female when they change) had not exactly been subtle about it, had not been subtle about watching his – his! – John. They're lurking, all of them, all the time. But John is his.

He knows what John will ask next, and he wonders if his answer will chase John away again. He won't allow it this time.

The Shadow lived as exactly that – a shadow – for one and a half decade – simply observing, never taking action except that one time in the A&E, when he had felt madness scratching at John's mind, but no matter what will happen tonight, he won't go back to being a shadow.

And so, when John asks what he wants to ask, the Shadow is calm because he know the future will belong to them, in one way or the other.

"You never told me. Said I wouldn't want to know. But I want to, now. So tell me: how… how do you get a body. A real body, I mean?"

John's voice is steady, and just the tiniest bit dead, as if he's accepted the fact that the truth will be horrible and he will hate it.

" _To get a body, we must kill, devour, take in a human. We eat the human, his body and soul, and that gives us power to create a body."_

John is silent; the Shadow knows he knew and feared that answer already, so he adds: _"The more emotional and personal the act of taking a life is, the more control we get over the body we create. That's why some of my brothers look the way they do. They've got the personalities of dead goldfish."_

For two heartbeats – John heartbeats, not Shadow heartbeats, because he doesn't have one, and doesn't have a heart – there's silence. Then, John chuckles, and although it's by no means light or relaxed, it's genuine amusement.

If there was a Heaven (which there is not, the Shadow knows it), this sound would probably be heard all day long.

However, as abruptly as he started laughing, John stops and his eyes are intense, his voice firm, when he asks: "Did you kill my parents? To get a body?"

The Shadow is not offended. He knows it's an obvious conclusion. _"No. I don't have a body, as you can clearly see. Or not-see."_

It's enough for John. He looks calm again, and the Shadow is content. John shouldn't be suspicious. He would never hurt him.

"Listen… I need to get some sleep. You'll be around tomorrow?" John sounds exhausted, but relaxed now and although they both know the question is not really a question at all, the Shadow whispers _"Yes."_

And John nods, looks almost as if he wants to add something, but then decides against it and simply crawls under the covers. 27 minutes later, his breathing has evened out. And it's only then that the Shadow slowly crawls up the bed until he surrounds the sleeping man. He hasn't done that in years, but now he can do it again. He's weak, weaker than he's ever been, but as he lies in the darkness and feels John's life in every breath he takes and exhales, his eyes, bright yellow but closed before, open and slowly turn silver again.

It's him and John again, the doctor and the silver-eyed monster.

X

His dreams thankfully lack pictures or action, just familiar, restful darkness and John wakes up more relaxed that he has in years. For one blissful moment, he forgets where he is and feels around in the dim morning light for Jessica – he's hard and maybe he can convince her for a little morning 'exercise', but instead of warm girlfriend, his fingers just find the edge of the bed and then he feels as if he's holding them into a bucket full of ice water.

Everything comes back rapidly then – he's in his old house, Jessice broke up with him three days ago and his parents are dead. Also, the Shadow is back – and apparantely lounging right next to John, if his icy digits are of any indication.

" _Good morning,"_ the Monster then says, making no move to removes icy darkness from John's fingers.

"You don't have to be nice just because my parents are dead," the doctor replies with a groan, voice raspy from sleep, and the Shadow sighs audibly.

" _Thank God, this was already becoming very tedious."_

John (despite not being hard anymore and having dead parents) can't help but feel relieved – he only realizes now that he hears the Shadow talk – and more fluidly so – again how much he'd missed their conversations, even when the monster is being rude or insensitive at times.

John's fingers become numb after a while and he quickly shoves them under his blanket, making a face when he feels them icy against his leg and, just for a moment longer, he allows himself to stay in this perfect world where he is six again, and talking to his Shadow, free of any concern.

However, reality – and impending post-funeral paperwork and conversations and phone calls – quickly pull him back into here and now and with a sigh, he gets up. "Today is the day after I buried my parents," he says gloomily to no-one in particular, but then he feels a presence behind him and a somehow soothing feeling spreads inside him. The Shadow doesn't voice something so sentimental, but both he and John know what stays unspoken between them.

_I'll be here, with you._

X

He lets John mourn, because he can't help his human with that sadness and pain. It's too much, overbearing almost, and so he just takes care of John's dreams, for which his friend (although he has no idea the Shadow is doing it and doesn't say anything about them out loud) is grateful.

And then they go back to London (not in a cat's travel box but in an old sports bag of John – which John had to wash first because the Shadow is not going to smell like smelly feet for weeks) and life starts to be good again.

John goes to work and the Shadow roams the streets – partly because London is still – even after hundreds of years – full of wonderful crime and murders, and partly to keep an eye on his brothers.

His closest – the fat bastard –of course recognizes him and he tells him: "Stop playing around, finish John Watson and get a body! You are behaving absolutely disgracing for all of us!" and the Shadow's answer is a menacing hiss before he leaves again. (What does he need a body for now, especially if there's the possibility he'll look like his brother?! John is not ready yet anyways.)

In the evenings he is always back at John's flat. The doctor never brings someone home these days, to the great content of the Shadow, and finally he realizes that John needs to be rewarded. He also needs to be prepared.

And so, in the nights, an altogether different kind of dreams begin to seep into John's mind while the Shadow is surrounding him in his sleep.

X

John stopped being confused about dreaming of having sex with men when he was… yeah, 19, and so he doesn't mind at all that – almost every night – he dreams of _him._

Gorgeous porcelain skin, slender, a bit boney, but with a plush arse, and endless neck. Dark, glossy hair that curls in the most beautiful way and is just long enough to fall into silver eyes when the man looks up through his lashes.

The eyes. His Shadow's eyes. Silver, mercury, a ray of moonlight on the nightly sea.

A perfect cupid's bow lip that forms a heart when those lips are wrapped around John's cock.

Which they happen to be a lot, actually.

The man usually doesn't talk, besides one word, that is. John's name, over and over. Hissed, moaned, whispered.

Screamed, when John takes matters – and the man's cock – into his hands.

It always starts out with John being the one pleasured, but after a short power struggle, John flips them over, and gets to touch, to taste, to feel, too. When he does, the silver eyes roll back in their sockets, and the erratic repetition of his name becomes louder and louder, screaming into the darkness when his partner comes.

John doesn't know his name, for when he tries to speak, to ask questions, there's a hot mouth covering his, a tongue playing with him, and he's rendered speechless.

John has never known sex could feel like this, and part of him starts living for these dreams, starts living for the tall man with the silver eyes.

X

" _How very patriotic of you,"_ the Shadow mocks, lounging on the sofa, spread out as a cloud of darkness and like he owns the place.

John paces up and down in the flat.

"Yes, well, I want to do something. I can't just sit back – and they need good people."

" _They also need good people here."_

John stops his pacing, and looks somewhat lost at the – silver again, beautiful, liquid moonlight – eyes on the sofa. Then he asks in a tone others would use to talk to a child: "Is it because you can't come?"

" _You will get shot and die,"_ the Shadow predicts gloomily, and while he says that it is obvious he just wants to say _"YES". "YES"_ because he can't come, he can't go to the desert where there's all light and no place for shadows.

"Gee, thanks," the doctor replies sarcastically, "it's good to know that your friends believe in you. I'll have training of course! – And besides, I'll be a doctor, not a soldier."

" _I highly doubt the Taliban will ask who you are or what your profession is before they shoot you,"_ the Shadow argues back, his deep voice – so different from the initial dry-leaves-and-whisper – almost sounding amused.

John doesn't know what to say to this and instead tries to think of a way to make it possible for the Shadow to tag along –honestly, this is one of the advantages of being friends with the monster under your bed: everyone else will have to leave their loved ones at home, but if John can only find a solution for the sun-exposure, he could, technically, bring his best friend with him.

X

The night before John is supposed to leave for Afghanistan, they still haven't found a solution (at least none that doesn't result in killing John, although the Shadow doesn't say that because it's not-good), but the Shadow is determined to tag along – not that he has told John _that_ , either.

He would go mad if he would just stay under John's bunk bed all day and night. However, he promised not to hurt humans and so taking over one of John's comrades will not be an option, either. If he could just take over John, share his body – but no. It would kill John.

And then he knows. It's obvious, really. 16-year-old John's single drop of blood had made him feel so powerful, for a moment at least, that if he took just a little more… not enough to kill or seriously injure… just a bit…

" _John,"_ his voice, as well as inky strands that could be limbs caress the sleeping man until John stirs, blinks one of his bright blue eyes open – and then starts snoring again, his eye falling close again.

The Shadow contemplates taking over a pigeon to properly wake John - but John didn't take the shredded cat on the coffee table too well last time the Shadow used an animal , so it's doubtful he'll react positive to a shredded pigeon in his bedroom; and besides, this is something that calls for delicacy.

" _John,"_ he says again, this time with more emphasis, and John stirs again.

He can tell that the doctor is still more asleep than not, barely at the border between dreams and reality, but at least this time he makes a non-committal grunt.

" _I need you to trust me, John."_

John is only a tiny bit more awake now and barely lucid enough to ask: "Why, what is it? Will you hurt me?"

And _"Yes,"_ is all the Shadow replies, and John's body reacts before he even has fully comprehended the answer, but it's too late and John's screams get caught in his throat when the Shadow is over him.

It's the monster's mercy that causes John to black out then.

X

He knows something is different this time. He's bound to the headboard of the bed, and he's naked, which is not unusual – but the atmosphere is different. More dangerous.

Long fingers run over his thighs and up his chest and he can't help but gasp at the tingling feeling. Heat follows where the fingers move, and set his skin on fire.

" _John, my John,"_ the deep voice murmurs. He has never been sure before, thought that maybe his unconscious was just trying to work with all the input of the day – which, after all, is just work and the Shadow most of the time – but now he is somehow sure, he knows with certainty. It _is_ the Shadow in his dreams. Actual him.

" _John, trust me. Can you do that?"_

John is hard now, incredibly hard, and he can still feel fingers where they are long gone and have moved on; the sense of danger is still in the air, but there are fingers stroking his body, curling around him and right now, he would probably say anything just to keep the silver-eyes man going.

" _I need you to say it, John, say it once. Do you trust me?"_ the velvet voice purrs again, lips against his ear, and John, moving against his constraints, pushing his hups up for more, more of anything, can only think of one answer.

(This has the potential to be a repetition of their split up all those years ago, before John went to med school, and that is why the Shadow needs to hear it this time.)

"Yes, yes of course, yessss-" the last 'yes' morphs into a low hiss as fingers pick up a different, faster pace around his cock.

And then John feels pain, sharp teeth tearing at the flesh of his leg and he thrashes around violently, torn between pain and pleasure as he comes, hard, and warm blood is trickling down his leg, and mingling with his come.

Silver eyes and a blood-covered mouth, framed by lush curls are the last thing he sees as pleasure and pain carry him away.

" _You and me, John, just the two of us against the rest of world."_

X

In the morning, a tired John leaves for Afghanistan – and the Shadow follows. On the plane, through security, right into the foreign country with the burning sun.

John limps for a couple of days, and has seen the deep teeth marks on his thigh, but neither the man nor the monster mention it.

They're going to war. Together.

(Always together.)

X

John is successful in Afghanistan. In no time, people start to notice his skills with a gun, the steel in his eyes and voice and the fact that the more dangerous a situation gets, the calmer John is.

Then the day comes where John Watson, MD, becomes Captain John Hamish Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.

And then the day comes where Captain John Watson dies.

X

Bullets are parting the air, screams and the coppery smell of blood fill it and John is right in the middle of it all. To his left and right his comrades are dropping like flies – but it is worth it, it _has_ to be worth it. They are trying to save villagers from the Taliban, saving innocent women, men and children.

And then a red flower blossoms right on Lena Duncan's forehead – she's a young woman, husband and two kids, serving for five years already – and John realizes they are all going to die here. A few meters down the street a giant explosion finishes off six Taliban – but also two of John's men – and the command to retreat comes naturally to him.

They flee – there is no proud way to say that –and take with them as many civilians as possible so they can safe at least _someone_ and then John trips right over a small body slumped on the ground, barely visible in brown rags against the dust, if it wasn't for the blood.

It's a five-year-old boy and he's missing both legs. Before John can even think of reacting, his instincts spring into action and he carries the boy into the shadow of a ruin of a house. If he wants to save his life, he needs first aid now or he will bleed to death before they can make it back to base camp.

John works with calm efficiency, blending out everything around him – and that is his first and only mistake as a Captain.

A shadow falls over him and when he looks up, he does so just in time to see a large, serrated blade coming down.

This is when everything around him goes mad. He knows he won't have time to move out of the way and he can't leave the unconscious boy unprotected so his best chance is to grab something to shield himself – only it never comes to that.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees silver and yellow flash and darkness move, darkness that is not a simple shadow. And then ice coldness hits his body and he suddenly moves, his muscles fey and he pounces – like a wild animal, like a creature that knows it's the most lethal thing around – at the vexed attacker. The man doesn't even have time to yank the knife around and then John is at his throat and yanks his head around fast. He breaks down, eyes dead and neck broken.

All John sees is light and shadow, but the smell of blood in the air is now intoxicating rather than choking and he can hear his own blood pumping through his body. A movement to his left makes him whip his head around and then he's pouncing again.

_They're all so weak, and he – he is a god._

Rational, doctor-part of John realizes something is wrong, his body doesn't seem to belong to him anymore, but most of him is busy with killing.

It's as if their attackers realize that he's the most dangerous of the English troops and now they concentrate their force on him – only that John… is a monster.

 _It's just the two of us against the rest of the world,_ a voice in his head hisses and he's not sure if he's remembering that or hearing it.

He knows another of his attackers and although he can't understand what the men are shouting, wide-eyed and pointing at him, the Shadow can.

The Shadow inside John Watson.

The men shout: "Kill the yellow-eyed soldier!"

X

He never wants to leave. Ever again. John is perfect, simply perfect and their minds have melted together instantly and easily, as if they always were one.

(Of course he shouldn't stay – he feels John's organs give out and die, feels John's personality fade slowly, because the taking over destroys the human to make room for the Monster - but oh, he never wants to leave, never never never-)

And then pain races through John's – his – body, like fire and ice and needles and I his head, John screams and the Shadow screams and there's so much of his own blood suddenly, and pain, so much pain – he drips out of John, just as the deep red liquid that contains John's life does. John is dying. He's been shot.

The Shadow rages. Half-mad of pain, half-mad because John, his John, his his his – is dying, he comes over the remaining Taliban like a mad god. And he is, he really is.

Bones are cracking, flesh is being torn apart, screams and blood and vitals flood the grounds – and then it's over and the last thing the Shadow sees before his inky body that's soaked (how can it be soaked, he's only darkness and eyes and teeth, how can it be soaked) with blood and full of rage and pain – for John, his dying John – dissolves, fades into the hot Afghanistan sunlight, is one of John's comrades falling to his knees next to John and frantically starts to apply pressure to John's shoulder.

Then, the Shadow is gone.

X

John survives.

X

Back in London, his Shadow is gone. John never sees it these days, whether he's alone in his flat, or out in the streets. And this only adds to his depression. He's crippled, physically as well as mentally, and the only person (because that's what he is, despite the fact that he doesn't have a name or a body) that has ever counted has left him, too.

When he lies awake in the nights, he prays – not to a god, but to a Shadow. To come back. To embrace him, like he always has. But it doesn't happen.

He listens in vain for the whispers in the night. He slits his wrists, not so much to commit suicide, but because blood always drew the Shadow to him like a shark in the water. He never shows up, though, and John almost bleeds to death. Mike, his old college friend, finds him in time, and everyone thinks he actually tried to kill himself (very common amongst ex-military men, even if he had been a doctor rather than a soldier) and they worry if John will be able to live alone for longer, fearing the consequences.

Harry suggests he lives with her, but after only two days, they realize it's not going to work. Mike is married, and so are most of his friends, and John doesn't want to impose.

Of course. That's what normal people his age live like. With their spouses. Kids. In a family home.

Mike finally suggests a flat-share.

"Who'd want to share a flat with me?" John asks.

"Funny. You're the second person to say that to me today," Mike replies.

And John doesn't want to feel interested, but he is, and so he asks: "Really? And who was the first?"

X

Mike arranges a meeting for them, in Baker Street, near Regent's Park, and when John steps out of the taxi, he checks the surroundings, out of habit now, for a sign of his Shadow. And as always these days, he doesn't see a thing.

Sighing, he walks over to the black door with the golden letters 221B on it, and is greeted by an old lady, who introduces herself as Mrs. Hudson and tells him that "Sherlock is waiting upstairs".

He nods, faking a smile, and heaves another sigh when he faces the stairs he has to climb in order to reach the flat. Maybe the flat sharing thing wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Go on dear," Mrs. Hudson urges him, and he looks back over his shoulders to say something but almost chokes when her eyes turn yellow for a moment.

However, the moment passes, and when he blinks, he looks into normal, human eyes again – eyes that look slightly worried now.

"Are you quite alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Not a ghost, a monster, John wants to say, but he doesn't and settles for rubbing his face, cursing himself silently for letting his mind play tricks on him again and then slowly starts climbing the stairs.

The door is ajar, but he knocks nevertheless – he can't just walk into a stranger's flat just like that, after all. And then he hears the voice.

"Come in."

X

His breath gets caught and he feels how the blood drains from his face because the voice sounds so very familiar and it just can't be.

Maybe it's just wishful thinking.

Maybe it's just a trick, his ears playing with him. Through the door and the quiet noise of morning London, voices can sound different.

John reaches out, fingers trembling, and pushes the door open and the man – tall, wearing a black, fitting suit – at the window turns, looks at him over his shoulder.

Dark curls framing a pale face. And silver eyes drilling themselves into John.

Time stands still. And then- "Hello, John."


	4. Of Monsters And Men

"I… don't understand." John's voice is flat. "I-… you-…"

"It's me, John," the man says and then he blinks and his eyes turn yellow. It's the only thing he has left, the only thing that reminds of his old looks. "Although I do go by the name of Sherlock Holmes now."

_You're alive. You're here. Where were you? Why didn't you come to me?_

All the questions run through John's mind, but instead asking them, he only asks one. It's the most obvious, probably. "How?"

Sherlock, illuminated in the window, the light playing on flawless skin, dark curls and reflecting in pale eyes, smiles tightly. "Ah. I thought you would ask. Well, I told you how this works, in general." He gestures down his slender, designer-suit clad body.

"You have to kill," John responds, recalling the conversation easily.

"Yes. The more personal the kill, the more control we get over the body we create." He stops for a moment and John sees that he ponders whether or not he should add something. Then, he does. "I always thought I'd have to take you, but… when you got shot, I poured out of you again, and I was mad." His eyes are hard now, as if he hates recalling that feeling.

All the while, John has a hard time comprehending what he has just been told.

"I was mad, raging, and you were dying in the sand. I took out a whole village full of Taliban warriors, John," Sherlock keeps talking, obviously lost in the memories and his irises are tinted yellow at the edges. "Turns out that was more than enough for me. My body was created from blood-drenched sand, and bones and flesh from them, and fuelled by the rage and madness. I woke up in London. You came here."

For a long time, John doesn't know what to say. It's still hard to believe, even when you grew up believing in monsters under your bed. But here is this man – the man from his dreams, the very same man – and logic dictates it's the Shadow, but it's all too much. Too much for John, who, until 15 minutes prior was alone. Lonely. Left behind.

"I don't think I can do this," he says, or better: hears himself say. His body moves without his mind. His mind is occupied with imploding. His body is occupied with fleeing the flat, fleeing the man he longs to touch, to make sure he's real. Flees what he has prayed for. Flees what he needs most.

"John, wait!" Sherlock calls out, and he stops, more out of habit than because he wants to (and besides, it's only his body, his mind has no say in this). "It's you and me, John! You and me against the rest of the world, remember? Always."

"I'm sorry. I can't do this right now. I… need to think," John's mouth says, and then he makes his way down the stairs as fast as he can. Steps out into a light drizzle. Starts walking down the street.

He hopes the Shadow – Sherlock won't follow. (Knowing him, though, he will.)

X

He can't believe it. Here he is, his John. Finally, they're together again – and John leaves.

True, he looks smaller, older, there are thin lines on his wrists where a blade broke soft skin. (How dared something so small and lifeless like a blade draw blood from his John?!) – but he, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, not the Shadow anymore, he never thought John would leave again.

Not after everything they've been through.

His phone rings. Ah, human technology. Wonderful. A little less wonderful is the caller ID. "What is it?"

The voice of his brother is dangerously quiet. "They're hunting."

Sherlock is out of the door in a split-second, pulling on his coat as he skips down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson, of a previous generation, but only having become human shortly after Sherlock – opens her door. "They're hunting," he bellows and although he's worried a bit, there's mostly glee in his voice. "The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" They can try. But no one is going to hunt his John. No one besides him.

X

John knows the Shadow – _Sherlock_ , he really should start using the name – is following him, but he's keeping his distance and John has no intention of slowing down.

All this time he's been here, while John… while John has been alone, suffering. He could've called, or at least sent a message, something like 'Hey I'm not dead, let's have dinner.'

With a grunt, John continues his angry limp-walk through the rainy London streets. Of course it's raining now. With a suspicious glance over his shoulder, he realizes that Sherlock is gone, suddenly, and he wonders if this… _hunt_ is over now. But then the tall figure pops up from behind a tree, a bloody cut on his cheek and John quickens his pace again, deciding he doesn't want to know what happened.

That is the moment the giant black limousine stops right next to him and a door is pushed open.

"Doctor Watson, I must ask you to get in the car," a male voice tells him from out of the shadows of the car interior.

"I don't get into cars with strangers," John mumbles back, hiding his surprise and weariness surprisingly well.

"I'm afraid I must insist. It is for your own safety. You see, you're being hunted." The voice is still very calm, but there's urgency in the man's words.

"What are you talking about?" John tries, noticing that Sherlock's footsteps in the distance have picked up in pace. He's shouting his name.

On the inside of the car, the man stares at John and the doctor's heart beats faster when the two pale eyes turn yellow. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

John gets in the car.

X

Sherlock, furious, texts Mycroft 27 times and since his brother prefers calling, yells on his phone's mailbox for a good five minutes.

When there's a knock on the door, he carelessly yanks it open (and later, he regrets this forever) and then everything goes black. His last thought is: "They weren't hunting _John."_

X

"Someone is missing you," John states drily as his…. host's phone bings again. "That's 27 messages and one call."

"Interesting how you keep track," the man says and makes it sound like an insult, somehow. "But then again, it is Sherlock, so what did I expect…"

"How well do you know Sherlock? You're one of them, after all. And what is this crap about someone hunting me?" John is still standing in the abandoned warehouse where the car has brought them. He was being offered a seat, but didn't take it. Not with one – or possibly more – of the Shadows around.

"How well do I know him? Very well, once, at least. We are co-hatchlings, after all…" the man answers cryptically.

It takes a few seconds for John to fully comprehend what that means. When the stranger sees the penny drop, he smiles, a thin smile. "Mycroft Holmes, at your service."

"You… you…" John tries to think of an appropriate way to finish this sentence (probably 'you are Sherlock's brother?!') and then settles for the most obvious and first thing that comes to his mind: "You tried to eat me when I was five?!"

"Ah yes. I rather hoped you had forgotten. I must apologize."

Alright. 'I'm sorry I tried to eat you' is definitely one of the many sentences John will not grow accustomed to hear.

"There are rather pressing matters at hand, though," Mycroft continues. "Namely, your safety. There is one of our brothers out there who wants to become human. Has wanted it for quite a while now, but especially since Sherlock made the transformation. I trust my brother explained the… requirements to you?"

John gets a bad feeling deep inside his guts, but he nods to let Mycroft continue.

"The more personal the kill, the more personal the body. And our brother… well, he plans the most personal kill he can think of."

John's phone vibrates.

"Please," Mycroft gestures, as if he just didn't tell John a monster is trying to kill him, a monster that could technically be hiding in any of the shadows around him. John nevertheless fumbles out his phone and opens the email.

It's just a picture and an address, but the picture makes John's heart skip a beat. It shows an unconscious Sherlock, blood from a wound on his temple running down his face and soaking into his shirt. He's tied to a chair.

John snaps his phone shut, mind set. No matter how hurt he is, how bad the Shadow treated him… they are… best friends. Always.

"I need to go."

Mycroft raises one eyebrow, not moving from where he stands next to the car. "You cannot kill a Shadow."

John's face is dangerous, and grim. "I don't kill. I'm a doctor, not a soldier. I don't send people into darkness – I take them back to the light."

Mycroft narrows his eyes and John makes a determined step forward. The other man steps aside, slowly, deliberately. John gets into the car.

X

" _He is not coming. Your pet is not coming."_

Sherlock says nothing. The only thing giving away what he feels are his eyes. Yellow. Piercing through the darkness. Meeting equally yellow ones.

" _So you really managed to mess up, huh, Sherlock? You scared him away. Again."_

Again, Sherlock remains silent (although the voice has a point, and a small part of him wonders if- _no_ ) and that aggravates the Shadow enough to lash out. Pain races through Sherlock's body as three gashes appear on his cheek.

That's definitely a disadvantage of being human. The pain. Never has he been in so much pain, at least not physically.

" _Maybe I'll just go and get him… It would be a shame for you not to see how I end him, but I'm tired of waiting. I suppose it must hurt enough to know that he doesn't even care for you enough to text back."_

The Shadow's words are poisonous, but Sherlock forces himself not to listen.

True, he and John fought, and John didn't even reply to the message the Shadow sent out earlier, possessing the body of some poor kid – the body that lies now on the cold tile floor of the empty swimming pool, mashed up, bloody, broken – but… Sherlock knows John. And if he's right, then it's of utmost importance that the Shadow stays here.

"You are crazy," he says, deliberately, and has to hide a grin when the Shadow hisses.

" _You're getting it all wrong – I'm not the crazy one. Well, at least not the only one. You and me, Sherlock, we're the same!"_ The darkness with the yellow eyes and bared teeth wobbles through the room, pacing. _"Don't you see? We both want something, and we both need John Watson for that. You and I – we're one!"_

Keep him talking. Keep him talking and hope… pray for John Watson to be the extraordinary human he is.

It's not hard to realize that he has no chance of escaping as long as the other Shadow is in the room, and if the Shadow decides on hunting for John, Sherlock might escape, but John would probably be dead before he reached him.

For the first time since he created his body, Sherlock regrets having one. There are so much more possibilities, of course, but right now he's the most vulnerable he's ever been. Flesh and blood and bones, the three things easiest to destroy.

"You don't know John Watson. You don't know what he's capable of," Sherlock threatens, a small smile playing around his bruised, bloody lips.

" _He's a human. You will understand his weakness when his blood splashes in your face."_ The Shadow laughs.

Sherlock says nothing, just prays for his human. He never prays. But now he does.

(Just like John prayed for his Shadow – only he never came.)

X

John has quit being the hunted when he got the email.

He is still mad at Sherlock, disappointed, hurt. But he is not allowing anyone to hurt him.

_I don't kill people – I take them back to the light._

He has not lied to Mycroft. He is no soldier anymore. But he still is a doctor. And he saw a couple of things in the flat that will help him.

It's Physics, really. Not that he ever was particularly interested in Physics. But he knows enough about refraction of light.

And quite a lot about what Shadows like and don't like.

X

" _He is not coming."_

He is. He has to be. He promised. Together, always.

X

John moves silently through the darkness.

He's hunting.

X

Sherlock feels him, the way he always did. It's not to do with being a monster. It's their connection.

However, the Shadow feels John, too.

" _How dumb can he be?!"_ he hisses. _"He's on the wrong floor."_

X

John flicks on a switch.

X

"No, he's not," Sherlock says, and then closes his eyes and leans back as light, already bright because it's from a searchlight, and concentrated by magnifying glasses and mirrors, cuts through the darkness.

It cuts through dust floating in the air, illuminates human Sherlock – and pierces through a raging Shadow.

It's only hope would be a body to possess around, but he can't take over Sherlock (it doesn't work that way) the boy from earlier is only a pile of goo and pieces of bone, and John is too far away.

And so the Shadow burns in the light, hissing, cursing, until the yellow eyes fade.

" _I'll be back!"_ he promises, one last hiss, one last goodbye, and Sherlock replies: "Catch… you… later…" before he's alone.

X

His hurt, bloody, beaten human body has never felt better than now, as John's hands rake over his face, hold open his eyelids to check for the dilation of his pupils, feel his pulse – throbbing steadily against warm fingers – wipe away blood.

He doesn't even flinch when John brushes over the wound at his temple, or the gashes on his cheek. He feels amazing. Safe, secure in the human body. The light doesn't hurt him, not one bit. It's warm on his skin, comfortably so, and a nice change to the cold of the dark swimming pool.

"That was… rather smart of you," Sherlock acknowledges, and John gives him a sharp look.

"Well, I don't like being hunted." He not only means the Shadow, and Sherlock knows it. His eyes say sorry, although he can't be arsed to say it out loud.

However, what he does voice is a – almost timid, _almost_ , because Sherlock doesn't do timid – question. "Will you come back to the flat with me?"

"I'll take you home, yes," John responds, but his tone is neutral. "You have some sort of first aid kit, right?"

Sherlock makes sure his disappointment and… fear (for the love of God he's not afraid why would he be afraid) don't show on his face and nods sharply (which is a bad idea since the room starts spinning immediately). John of course notices (everything) but keeps quiet.

They slowly make their way out of the pool, John supporting the taller man with a steadying arm around his waist, and his limp is forgotten for the moment.

He knows exactly what Sherlock wants, and wants to hear, but he really doesn't want to think about it. All he actually wants is patch his- Sherlock up, sit down and have a nice cuppa. Walking through London in the rain, carrying a shitload of mirrors around all the while remaining unseen to a monster that wanted to kill him and rescuing Sherlock has taken its toll on him.

"Bah, Mycroft's car…" Sherlock murmurs in distaste, but John doesn't have time for that.

"You're free to walk."

Sherlock climbs in without another word.

X

"So will you stay?" Sherlock asks.

"Close your mouth," John replies, carefully cleaning the deep gashes on the other man's cheek. They are raw, red and glistening with blood, standing out sharply against alabaster skin and moonlight eyes. John feels how his heart starts beating faster, how his fingers want to linger on the strange, yet familiar features. ( _I know you, I slept with you once upon a dream,_ a voice in John's head mockingly sings. _Once – more like hundreds of times_.) He forces himself to move away.

"John, look at me."

He doesn't want to, but automatically looks up from where he tries to wipe his bloody hands clean with a towel – he can't use the sink, something… fuzzy is sitting in there and John's not sure if it's alive.

"I am sorry, I truly am. I told you my reasons. Try to understand. And don't go. You promised."

"I promised my best friend."

"And I'm still the same… well, probably not _person_ ," Sherlock laughs quietly. "Still the same being. I am still _me_."

"So you keep saying," John mumbles. "But I don't know you – and if you are actually him, you know what I mean – look, when I needed you most, you were gone."

"Wrong. I was there when you needed me most. I saved your life."

"You possessed me! I could feel you, inside my head! I couldn't move for myself anymore!" John knows he's raised his voice now but he's past the point where he cares. Sherlock is worked up, too, and although he's wobbly on his feet he starts pacing, like a caged animal.

"I know I vowed never to, but you were in danger, John. I couldn't allow that man to kill you. "You… It was magnificent, being with you. I never felt more powerful in my life. But I was consuming you, so when you got shot it was… a wakeup call. I was – we were – in so much pain, and it was enough to make me realize what I was doing to you, that I was destroying you. But-" he looks up, stops mid-step and his eyes drill themselves into John's. "I… I need you, and I want you. I want you to be mine. I want to have you. Please, John. I let you go once. Now come to me on your own. Please."

And the little word, one 'please' from the monster that has never pleaded in his life makes John's heart skip a beat. He listened to the story with a mix of horror and longing and now – although he hates himself quite a bit for it – he's half hard and wants nothing more than to close the distance between himself and Sherlock and kiss him, feel him under his fingertips. However… "I can't. You're my best friend, but right now, you're also a stranger. I haven't seen you in weeks, and you're… different now. Besides, you're hurt and-"

With one sudden movement, Sherlock is across the room, up in John's personal space. He can't back away – there's a wall behind him - but he doesn't plan to, anyways, and stands his ground, Sherlock's face inches away from his. He smells like blood, sweat, a faint scent of shampoo and… home.

"We haven't seen each other in weeks, but I am not stranger to you and you know that." The former Shadow's voice drops even lower than before and a shiver runs down John's spine, causing the hair on his arms to stand on end.

"You grew up with me, I've been there all the time and you dreamt of me. Every single night, I came to you in your dreams and you never rejected me. _So. Why. Now?"_

John takes in a shuddering breath that leaves his lungs again in a hiss when Sherlock moves even closer, bringing their hips so close together that they almost, _almost_ touch, and his long fingers touch John's hands lightly. John puts a lot of effort into making his voice sound steady.

"The last time I dreamt of you, you hurt me. I asked you if you would, and you said yes."

"Are you scared of me, John?" Sherlock asks, voice a mix of amusement and… anger. Not at John, though. At himself.

"No. I never really was," John replies (and that's not completely true but it's enough for now).

"Ask me again," Sherlock murmurs, lips briefly gracing John's ear. "Ask me again, and then stay with me, forever."

"What if I don't like the answer?"

"Then… you are free to leave." (Not that Sherlock ever plans on letting John out of his sight again. But if he has to, he will let him go, allow him the illusion of being able to leave – and just follow silently. Sherlock thinks he can do this.) (Although, probably not.)

John knows all of this, too. He knows it in his heart, like he knows his Shadow. _Sherlock._ But he respects the attempt of an offer. (And besides, it's not very likely he will be able to leave, and to live in London, or anywhere, in the knowledge that his best friend – monster-under-the-bed, Shadow, Sherlock – is living here.)

So he asks: "Will you hurt me today?"

And a grin breaks free on Sherlock's face, because he knows he has won. "No. Not today, or ever again."

John starts to smile, slowly. The corners of his mouth rise, his eyes (dim, tired before) start to brighten in the sparsely lit flat.

"Alright. I'll stay."

The 'always' doesn't need saying, it's on both their minds, and then Sherlock crashes their lips together.

X

For about a second, the kiss is sweet but then longing and hunger take over in both men and John is slammed into the kitchen wall. The air flees his lungs with a grunt, but Sherlock is all over him, taking in his breath as if it's all he needs to live.

An eager mouth distracts John from everything that usually bothers him (his shoulder aches when it's raining – oh the irony of living in England – and his leg makes sudden movements impossible – usually) and instead he responds just as eagerly, a moan escaping him. It is swallows by Sherlock but John feels it reverberating in their chests that are pressed closed together.

However, John hates being cornered and so he – more or less gently – maneuvers them around. He is used to the play of dominance between himself and Sherlock, knows what he can do to the taller man. Knows what he wants to do, and wants to be done to.

"Bedroom," Sherlock growls and yanks John away again, fighting for dominance.

That way – slamming into the walls and furniture, sending books and papers and mugs to the ground – they move towards the door of the bedroom. Sherlock kicks it open and they tumble in. His dress shirt hangs open on his chest and he practically tears it off while John struggles with his own clothes. When he finally manages to get off his jumper and shirt, he meets Sherlock's eyes and if that's possible, he gets even harder. They eyes of the man -the monster? – are piercing through the semi-darkness, rendered yellow at the edges of the irises again and they stare positively hungry at the exposed skin of John's chest, firm muscles twitching under the attentive look.

John himself gets a good look, too, and although they obviously both know each other's bodies from the dreams, it's quite different to see them for real. Sherlock's pale skin has lost a bit of the eerie glow, but it hasn't lost any of its beauty, it just looks more real and seeing him like this, so off, deliciously ruffled and aroused, sends yet another wave of want through John's body before he launches forward again, grabbing his regained best friend, lover, soul-mate firmly.

Long fingers sneak in between their bodies and hook into the belt loops of John's jeans, while his own hands already tug on Sherlock's trousers.

"Off," John commands, and Sherlock shivers in pleasure at his tone before burying his face in John's neck and biting down gently. There are hundreds of bitemarks by now, but John doesn't mind and Sherlock's arousal only gets bigger, seeing John being so completely his.

It's not easy, getting out of the last articles of clothing when neither of them wants to let go of the other but after some time, they manage – although they do land on the floor, on top of the pile of their clothes, halfway under the bed.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" John murmurs, with an amused grin at Sherlock's familiar position, having spent most of his time as a Shadow under beds.

"Speaking of hard-" Sherlock replies deviously and cheekily grabs between John's legs, causing minor explosions behind the doctor's fluttering eyelids and inducing about three heart attacks.

Somehow they end up on the bed again, by now shamelessly rutting against each other, and sweat and precum mingle on their bodies. In a tender moment, John's fingertips brush over Sherlock's cheek because the gashes have started bleeding again. A few drops run down Sherlock's neck, rubies on snow, and more has soaked into the sheets, but John's concerns are being deemed unnecessary in hushed whispers and when Sherlock starts sucking on his doctor's bloody finger tips, John gives in and lets go of the topic.

In another life, or maybe just with someone else, John would questions his sanity, his sexuality and probably all of his life choices, but this – this is not a quick fuck with a stranger. It's his Shadow, the creature, the man he's knows for all of his life. This is about friendship, trust, love. This is about them. They've done this before, a hundred times in his dreams, but now it's real. Finally real. And even if his Shadow now looks human, John can see so much in the man that is Shadow. The way he looks at John – curious, loving, superior, amused, possessive and so much more, all at the same time; the way he talks; they way he moves (flowing, swift, like ink running over paper) and pours himself all over John.

Sherlock is still possessive, very much so, and the only difference to John's dreams, where neither of them would speak, is that they're now both very vocal.

Sherlock also makes advantage of finally being able to touch for real, not trapped by his inky, cold, contourless "limbs" and while he could only speak of his want and need as a Shadow, he can now show it to John.

He sucks and bites John's neck, and John moans.

He licks at the scar tissue around the bullet wound, as if he wants to clean it (and maybe that's actually what it is – getting rid of Afghanistan, replacing it all with want, desire, Sherlock) and John shivers and sighs in pleasure.

He tastes him everywhere until John thinks he'll burst if he can't have Sherlock now.

Sherlock, who has been fond of John's name in the dreams already has lost nothing of that fondness in reality and when John starts working him open – knowing exactly how to crook his fingers to find the sweet spot that makes Sherlock's eyes go completely yellow for a moment – he alternates between shouting, moaning and grunting John's name, all the while working talented fingers on John's throbbing cock.

It all threatens to become too much, then, and with a determined "Now" coming at the exact time from both men, John enters Sherlock, pushing into tight heat as slowly as he can because while it's animalistic, feral and down to basic instincts, he still doesn't want to hurt Sherlock. The effort of not just pounding into his lover is so big that John's knuckles turn white and the grip he has around Sherlock's hips is bruising by now, leaving John-hand-shaped imprints on white skin.

They have both left many marks on each other that evening, and they all speak of their love for each other.

The urge to dominate once again sears up in Sherlock, who doesn't seem content with staying on his back, because before John can even begin to move, the taller man flips them over, magically managing to keep John inside himself during the motion by clenching tightly around him. Any second longer and John would come, but Sherlock is equally close already and by now they both know through the haze of lust and want and need that this is about more than just sex.

Sherlock finally starts moving, riding, and John meets him with steady thrusts. They're both panting and swearing by now, too close to care about anything else but their joined bodies.

"Take me, John" Sherlock asks, orders, begs, dares and it's about more than this - than the physical – again and John manages a raspy: "Oh, God, yes-" before Sherlock's body goes taunt like a bow and he comes, spilling over his own stomach and John's and the sight, combined with the contractions around his cock that is buried deeply inside Sherlock sends John over the edge, too, while Sherlock still clenches around him, unable to come down from his high just yet.

Finally, both men go still, and the only thing audible is a slow dripping. Sherlock's cheek is still bleeding and the red droplets fall down on John's chest from the other man's bend head, like summer rain. Where they hit John's skin, though, they suddenly change their colour to velvety black and just… vanish inside John.

Almost immediately, Sherlock's voice floods his brain – _JohnmybeautifulJohnyouandmeJohn_ – and the last thing he feels before passing out is Sherlock's hands stroking softly over his sides and lips gently caressing his face.

X

John is out cold and he doesn't even move when Sherlock climbs off of him carefully.

The sheets are ruined forever, stained with sweat, blood, dirt – where did that come from? – and so he uses them to clean the cum off of himself and John.

When he concentrates, he can hear John's heartbeat in his mind, can feel him even when they're not touching.

John, finally, has accepted, embraced the darkness; the blood has created a bond that protects him, allows him to feel Sherlock jut the way Sherlock could feel him when he was still made of nothing but darkness.

Sherlock has long ago taste John's blood, and now, finally, with a splotch of Shadow running though John's veins, the exchange is complete.

He will be safe from the other Shadows now.

And he will forever be one with Sherlock.

Exhausted Sherlock. Spent Sherlock. Tired Sherlock.

Sherlock climbs back into bed, with a fresh sheet to throw over their naked bodies, and John subconsciously moves back until he comes into contact with Sherlock's skin. One arm and one leg curl around the sleeping doctor immediately and seconds later, the only thing left is the sound of the two of them breathing regularly, and completely in synch.

X

People almost never give the short, compact doctor a second glance. He's wearing cable-knit jumpers, for God's sake. However, some of them, when passing him, turn around, not sure why, but they do.

And they see the steel in his eyes, and something like a lingering darkness, like he has seen things no one can imagine. His eyes are old, but very awake. Then they look closer, try to watch him walk away, and notice his posture – ram-rod straight. Notice muscles moving under the baggy clothes. Notice the determination in every step.

Then he disappears, in the shadows of a building, and he really is gone. They can't explain it. It's as if he's just melted into the shadows. And finally, when they finally _finally_ dare to look closer, to openly stare, out of the darkness a pair of blue eyes flash up again, tinted yellow around the irises, and they stares right back at them.

They know it's him, they realize he knew all along they were watching.

Suddenly, the eyes disappear again, and the people will shake their heads, and tell themselves they're being paranoid and when they look one last time, they will see him walking again, but this time he's not alone. There's a taller man next to him.

And together, they melt into the shadows again, and are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet. It's the first time I've tried something darker and a bit more sexual. I'm not entirely convinced on how it turned out, but I had fun writing it :)  
> Come find me on tumblr (hanna-notmontana) if you want to!  
> Love, Hanna


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